cuckoo
by soshi185
Summary: Day after day, she lived someone else's life/Nobume Imai


_One day Nobume found something that didn't belong to her_

* * *

She believed the real heart of Isaburo's office was his Western-style brown desk. Her boss had proudly placed the beautiful piece of furniture right next to the window, making it the crown of his sophisticated kingdom that hid many secrets not suitable for other observers. Sometimes, searching for something, she was admiring it in the morning, as the first rays of sunshine brightened the whole room. The desk seemed to be dangerously red - or royal purple, as Isaburo probably thought in his vain. All unnecessary documents were sinking in the hidden shadow when the most important files seemed to shine falsely in the sun.

Nobume wasn't going to ask Isaburo if he arranged things like that deliberately. She simply followed the life lessons taught by Oboro and watched every detail, absorbed each flicker and gave them all their respective importance, because people do not do anything without a reason.

She knew it well.

That day Nobume immediately noticed an open drawer, a small element that stood out like some strange devastation in the harmony; Isaburo always finished what he started. She was looking at the half-open drawer and her indistinct silhouette, painted by the midday sun on the glossy desk.

For years she had patiently tried to fight with those small moments when a voice, similar to her own, urged her to break and take impulsive actions, dictated by her untrustworthy heartbeat.

Something irresponsible. Stupid.

Maybe a little human.

She did it once, when she had faced Isaburo to protect Shouyo's student and his friends. Nobume had learned obedience, but even someone like her could be afraid.

On the top of the desk she found a picture. It seemed to be new, because those from early Amanto era usually were marked with paper scratches. Isaburo also looked pretty much the same, except for small wrinkles he had now on his forehead. In the elegant, portrait photography he was not looking at the camera, but at the woman sitting next to him.

Nobume has never been good at judging people, so she didn't know whether she was beautiful herself or if Isaburo was handsome. She simply saw the facts - a slightly sleepy face, black hair, golden eyes.

Actually Nobume didn't remember her. That night had been too dark.

She just wondered for a moment, looking at that small world closed in the photography, the world that was far away from her. When she made sure the photograph lay as she found it, she knew Isaburo would never know.

That night she had a dream. Nobume almost never dreamed, though she realized her lack of dreams later, in the morning. In her dream she was standing in the street, dressed in a black executor dress, and next to her flowed a rickshaw made of gold. Nobume wanted to get closer, but a guard blocked her before she could take a step. She saw Isaburo; next to him a dark-haired woman and a little girl sitting on his lap. Nobume said something and Isaburo noticed her, but didn't recognize. He just nod his head slightly to welcome her. The man turned to his daughter.

She didn't know how her mind was able to create a smile so bright on the face that was always veiled with sadness.

The rickshaw disappeared, the street was deserted. Nobume stayed all alone until Oboro said it was time for her holy orders.

* * *

 _On the second day Nobume dreamed about something she didn't deserve_

* * *

She was a stranger in the Sasaki household, so they moved her somewhere on the sideline of their public life. In the traditional and restrictive dollhouse the girl never adopted by Isaburo, without his elite name had become a nameless addition and nobody knew how to deal with her.

It didn't particularly bother her. Nobume couldn't belong to any place and even now she did not feel like a Sasaki girl, because in her strange life the identity proved to be a fleeting value. She wasn't sure if she was Imai or Mukuro and didn't think the question had any meaning.

And yet, in this hot afternoon, she crept into Isaburo's room, hiding in the shadows like a burglar. Nobume hated herself and she cared for that hatred.

But still she wanted at least the slightest proof that along with her name she received a small part of Sasaki Nobume. That girl was her life, the emptiness Nobume had to fill. And someone Nobume should be.

Isaburo had also stopped visiting the main Sasaki residence. The work made him busy, he was saying. So everybody around him was nodding and whispering in hushed tone that the house awakened many memories, he just couldn't feel good here. Therefore, Isaburo did not show up there, he had only taken "few important things."

Finally, Nobume found a medium-sized box hidden in the depths of the closet. She wondered if she was not mistaken, because the black ebony box seemed to be null and void, as if covered with dust and oblivion. She also wondered when she had become so unfaithful.

Inside she saw a kimono, an expensive and beautiful one. She took it and dark, smooth orange fabric started to dance between her fingers. It smelled surprisingly sweet, not musty, as she had expected. Nobume admired it in silence, its warm sleeves and delicate, brown leaves patterns, its gold-colored obi.

She thought about Isaburo's wife and her eyes that glowed like sun.

It was a standard size, so Nobume couldn't tell whether her height or figure was similar. Did she resemble her? Who knows?

Standing in front of a mirror and taking off her heavy uniform she felt it was nothing but a test. She just checked, putting on the decorated material and searched, unsuccessfully trying to tie the obi without any help, waited for the girl in the mirror to confirm that Sasaki's wife wore the kimono similarly.

Nobume didn't have golden eyes, but red looked beautifully with brown leaves.

That evening she didn't dream, but hid under her blankets and imagined that Mukuro was never born. Instead she, Sasaki Nobume, tied up her mother's hair while Isaburo stroked her head. She has never fallen asleep so quickly.

* * *

 _On the third day Nobume realized nobody had what they wanted_

* * *

It was an ordinary evening, though even she was aware that the battlefield wasn't normal. But Nobume was frighteningly free and uninhibited when she could feel every move of her body and the sword in her hand was a part of that dance. Now the Mimawarigumi members walked around her, shouting orders and helping wounded when she watched them in silence, clearing the long ōdachi.

Isaburo showed up later, silent and weary. He gave her a long, long and tired look, then whispered few commands and walked away before Nobume could say anything.

She did not chase him.

Nobume watched his back, the silhouette disappearing with every step and knew Isaburo would always leave. Maybe he was never near her, maybe her only companion was the heavy and beautifully forged piece of metal. And maybe from the beginning she and Isaburo, living next to each other, have never been together, because looking at her he could hear the voice of the wife he had lost and the daughter he had never met.

But if it was what Isaburo wanted from her, she should reopen his wounds day after day and make sure that he didn't forget the life that was gone. She could be with him and clumsy play her role of the daughter or leave him all alone, but both decisions could only kill him slowly.

And even if nobody knew, deep inside Nobume felt painful and suffocating emptiness. She was not Sasaki Nobume.

Probably she wasn't even Mukuro.

That day she fell asleep as Imai Nobume, the girl who cut out Isaburo's daughter from the world to live her false life and sometimes feel fuller.

She has never felt so nameless.

* * *

Mini-Dictionary:

 _\- ōdachi_ \- a Japanese samurai sword that Nobume carries. It had a very long blade (about 35 inches)

\- "It was a standard size" - traditional female kimono are all the same size. They used tucks and folds of material to adjust them to woman's figure.

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